


That Which You Sow

by MlleMusketeer



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Emotional Manipulation, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Season 2 spoilers, Seduction, Sticky Sex, Unrequited Love, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-26 04:47:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MlleMusketeer/pseuds/MlleMusketeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 2 AU. <br/>Instead of escaping the Nemesis after his ill-fated energon raid, Starscream is captured. The amnesiac Orion Pax offers an opportunity he cannot refuse; a ticket off the Nemesis and into the safety of the Autobot fold, and a perfect way to spite Megatron, all in one.</p>
<p>Now, it only remains to convince Orion to trust him, something both easy and <i>very</i> pleasurable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zuzeca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zuzeca/gifts).



> My delightful fandom mentor, Zuzeca, told me two things in quick succession during one of our late-night robot-squee-fests: 
> 
> 1\. She will ship anything if it is well written enough.
> 
> 2\. She can't ship Optimus/Starscream. 
> 
> Obviously, this was a challenge that could not be passed up.
> 
> Warning: Extremely, _extremely_ dubious consent. While Orion is perfectly happy and really quite enjoying his encounters with Starscream, he does not have his memories and so cannot give informed consent, and Starscream has deliberately set out to seduce him in full knowledge of this. Because Starscream is really not a nice person. 
> 
> (But so much fun to write, all the same).

There was plenty of time to reflect on exactly how wrong that plan had gone in the brig. There was also plenty of time to think about exactly what Megatron would do to him. Starscream wasted time on neither. 

It wasn’t as if this were exactly an uncommon occurrence. He’d managed to soothe Megatron’s ruffled temper before, at least enough to return to his old position. Sure, Megatron might beat him through the deckplates, but Knockout wasn’t entirely incompetent. It would be better than starving. 

He hoped. 

He also hoped he’d get out of this one without losing any appendages. Perhaps that last one was aiming a bit high, but it was worth hoping. Besides, Megatron _needed_ him. It was the only explanation. 

And this time—well. Someone had managed to get his hands on a certain Prime. A wonder he hadn’t simply _killed_ the mech, but then again, they had been fragging back before the war. Probably still were. 

Footsteps. Starscream huddled down around himself and produced the most pathetic, big-opticked expression he could manage. He threw in a bit of shivering for good measure. Megatron would buy it. He _always_ bought it. He _loved_ feeling superior. 

Here came Megatron. Starscream flinched into the corner as the forcefield deactivated, raising his cuffed hands as if he expected a blow. He thought it was a rather nice touch, kept the pride strictly  out of his field, and cowered.   

Megatron hauled him upright by the simple expedient of seizing the cuffs and pulling hard. “Well?” he snarled, and instead of _what are you doing here_ or _so why shouldn’t I kill you_ , “What did you say to him?”

“What?” Starscream dropped the facade for a moment, absolutely confused. Not only was he acting oddly, but his field was tucked in tight and unreadable, very unusual.  Megatron was usually more fond of beating one over the head with his mood rather than _dissembling_. 

“ _To Orion_.”

“Nothing! Nothing at all! Please, my lord, I didn’t mean—”

A hard shake. Starscream whimpered. 

“That had best be the case.” Megatron leaned forward. Starscream flinched back. “Or I will tear your vocalizer out.”

“Yes, master!” How _peculiar_ , that this should be Megatron’s first concern. What in the Pit had he _missed_? 

He yelped as Megatron threw him back into the corner and tried to scramble upright before Megatron reached him. “Master, I—”

“You will not mention the name Optimus Prime around him. You will not speak of the Autobots. For if you do—” Megatron took his chin in one, none-too-gentle clawed hand and forced him to look up, “even _you_ will not survive what I will do.” Now his field expanded, vicious purpose.

And no desire. 

_Slaggit._ And here Starscream had hoped he’d get one good rough ‘facing session out of this debacle. 

He shuttered his optics at Megatron. “...you’re not going to kill me now?” he said, and then cursed himself for giving the great lout ideas. 

Megatron ex-vented, plainly exasperated. “I have more important things to do than play our little game, Starscream.”

Starscream stared at him, though there wasn’t much else he could do with Megatron’s claws under his chin. The arrival of Optimus—Orion—had really quite disturbed their dear leader. So they _were_ going to skip the usual ‘proving my loyalty’ frag and just get to the part where he got his old post back. He tried a inquiring flick of his field and was met with stolid indifference.

But, of course, it was likely Megatron was getting more than enough fragging, courtesy of the captured Autobot leader. Said leader wasn’t quite himself but the consequences were the same…

Megatron leaned closer again. Starscream froze, trembling. “Lose us Orion and I will do _considerably_ worse than leave you to Knockout’s _tender_ care, do you understand me, Starscream?”

“Y-yes, master.” So he was _nervous_ about Orion’s loyalty? That wasn’t at all like Megatron, not if he’d gotten Orion in berth.

The answer occurred to him at the same time Megatron let go of the cuffs. Oh, _good_. The most excellent Emperor of Destruction was _pining_ for Optimus Prime. If Starscream had no sense of self preservation he’d laugh. 

Well. Time to get revenge for all the humiliations he’d suffered, and get off the _Nemesis_ once and for all. Megatron would never know what hit him.

* * *

 

Of course it wasn’t that easy. Of course it involved more pain than that. But, all in all, it went well. After a no more than mildly unpleasant groveling session, Starscream found himself strutting down the corridors of the Nemesis, restored to his former glory. Granted, he was strutting toward the med-bay to get the new set of dents Megatron had given him repaired, but all in all the whole affair had been a success. He’d refueled, there were no dreadful organic creatures leaking at him, and no one trying to hunt him down. 

That didn’t mean he intended to _stay_ here, of course. He’d had more than enough of Megatron’s temper to last him _lifetimes_. No. He intended to leave as soon as he could, and the former Optimus Prime was going to be his ticket out. 

It had become _abundantly_ clear during his time away that simply going rogue wasn’t a good option. Energon was scarce enough to start with; a mech on his own stood little chance of obtaining enough to keep frame and spark together. And the only alternative to staying _here_ was joining the Autobots. 

Which had gone _oh-so-well_ last time.

But if he turned  up on their doorstep with their precious leader in tow, they could hardly try to kill him _again_ , now could they? Even Arcee—and that femme _really_ needed to get past her _ridiculous_ revenge fantasies—would hesitate if Optimus vouched for him. 

Well. Orion. That was going to take some getting used to.

The doors of the med-bay slid open to reveal Knockout doing something delicate and probably useless at one of the lab benches. He looked up as Starscream came in. Starscream smirked.

“Pleased to see me?” 

“Not particularly.” Knockout put whatever-it-was down and turned to face him, calculating. “I believe some of the Eradicons were laying 2-1 odds against Megatron actually allowing you to gain your post back.”

“How charming.” The doors closed as he stalked forward. “I am in need of minor repairs.” Which should have been obvious, but Knockout could be rather _thick_ when it came to observations that weren’t related to someone’s paintjob. 

“Lucky you,” said Knockout, and started forward to examine Starscream. “Hm. Let me see that wing.”

Starscream gritted his dentae and put up with Knockout’s clumsy ministrations, only yelping when Knockout did something particularly unpleasant. 

“So,” he said after a while, when they’d moved onto slightly less uncomfortable procedures, “about our newest guest?” 

Incompetent medic though he was, Knockout was an _accomplished_ gossip. His wheels pricked up at that, and his field shifted interested and much more cheerful.

“Oh, that,” he said. “It’s really quite delightful. I’m surprised you didn’t pick up on at least _some_ of it…” 

And he spun off into an explanation that left Starscream slack-jawed. It involved _Unicron_ , of all beings! If he’d simply _lied_ it would be more believable! But the hard evidence was wandering around the _Nemesis_ and acting as a...well, a data clerk while every Eradicon in sight trembled with fear or rage, and Lord Megatron…

Neither of them actually _said_ it, but it was clear that Knockout had formed a similar evaluation of Megatron’s motives as Starscream had. 

“So his memories are gone?”

“With no chance of recovery. Not without the Matrix.” Knockout finished what he was doing and stepped back. “I performed the scans myself.”

Starscream grinned. This was _perfect_. 

Unfortunately, it would also take considerable patience. 

* * *

It was some time before he was able to pay his respects properly to Orion, something made all the more embarrassing because Orion seemed to be expecting him.

“Starscream,” he said gravely, not turning from the terminal, “I am glad to see you. Lord Megatron said that you were deceased—it was a relief to find that it was not true, and still more of one that you have rejoined our cause.”

Oh, _someone_ was in for a disappointment. “I am flattered that you were so concerned for my welfare,” he said, and bowed, optics flicking up toward the ceiling. Soundwave was assuredly watching; he’d have to play this one very, _very_ , carefully. 

Now Orion did turn around, looking at him with wide, painfully honest blue optics. “I am still concerned,” he said, “mostly because Lord Megatron saw fit to dissemble on the subject.”

Starscream waved a hand. “I can hardly blame him,” he said. “My survival was a less-than-certain thing, and I had been gone for quite some time.”

“I suppose,” said Orion, and Starscream grinned inwardly. He sounded deeply doubtful. “It is still...uncharacteristic for Lord Megatron to be less than honest in a matter such as this.”

“War will change a mech,” said Starscream. “Often, quite a lot.”

“Yes,” said Orion. “It seems that Megatron has changed much.” He looked down at his hands on the keyboard, shoulders slumping. 

The poor thing looked absolutely _miserable_. It was enough to make your spark ache, really. You wondered what _else_ Megatron had said to him. Starscream kept the smirk off his face. There were _so_ many ways to turn this to his advantage. 

He settled for the immediate one, which was to put a hand on the taller mech’s arm. “It must be difficult,” he said. “To come back after so long to find...well, this.” He gestured, taking in the room, the Nemesis, the death of Cybertron, Megatron’s personality issues. “I cannot _begin_ to imagine...but if you need an ally, I am at your disposal.” And with a smile and a little bow, he left Orion in peace. 

Oh, this would be _fun_. He wondered if he could get Orion into a berth before this was all over. He’d probably be a far better frag than Megatron was, though that wasn’t saying much. Whatever Soundwave might quote (and Starscream still regretted that incident-- _far_ too much high-grade in one night, only circumstance under which he would frag that faceless creep), he  didn’t like being submissive _all_ the time. 

Those soft-sparked Autobots would take this hook, line and sinker. He’d present himself as their precious leader’s rescuer, and if said precious leader had an emotional connection to him, so much the better. Even Arcee wouldn’t be able to justify killing him with _that_ record. 

And being the one who stole Megatron’s personal favorite chew-toy? _That_ would sting. Starscream would have stolen something Megatron had always wanted and never gotten right from under his claws—and as things that Megatron wanted went, Optimus’s...well, Orion’s...aft was one of the more attractive.

He went back to his duties with a much lighter spark. 


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn’t all that long before he got a personal comm from Orion, no other content than a request to meet. 

“I don’t think this is the only thing Lord Megatron has...dissembled about,” he said as soon as the doors closed behind Starscream. “After what you said, I looked up this ‘Optimus Prime’.”

Starscream winced and looked ceilingward. Soundwave was off the ship, but it hardly did to tempt fate.

Orion followed his gaze, confused. “Is there something…”

“Don’t mention that name,” said Starscream. “ _Especially_ not that you had it from me. Our _esteemed_ leader would be rather...upset.”

“And why would that be?” Orion stepped toward the screen and brought up an image with a few keystrokes: Optimus Prime. Starscream was impressed despite himself. He knew that Soundwave had been responsible for sanitizing the data core. It must have taken more than reasonable skill to get past those codes. “What happened to me while I was in ‘stasis’, Starscream?”

“Ah…” Starscream glanced upwards again. While yes, Orion was confiding in him and this was _very_ good, it wasn’t exactly conducive to his survival… At least the blank-faced creep was off on patrol. Which probably meant ‘facing Megatron, but that was one thing that didn’t bear thinking about. Eeeugh. Those cables were creepy enough _outside_ of the berth.

Something in Orion’s faceplates softened, and he took a step forward, placing one massive hand on Starscream’s shoulder. Starscream only narrowly managed not to flinch away. “Starscream, please. You are the only mech on this ship who has offered me answers. Megatron has changed greatly, in ways I do not understand, and the others…” He glanced at the screen. “I think they fear me, and if my suspicions are correct, they have good reason. I need an ally, Starscream, and I need the truth.”

Starscream shuttered his optics at him. Well. Fortunate timing… 

“Soundwave watches all,” was what he settled on. “He’s off the ship now, we have time, but you _must_ be more discreet.”

“Surely Megatron does not feel the need—that is, surely, Soundwave does not need to—” Orion trailed off helplessly and looked at him, blue optics wide with distress. Starscream wondered for a moment how much wider he could get them to go, playing with his windshields, and stopped that line of thought before it could show in his field. Now was not the time.

“Things have...changed,” said Starscream, and settled himself against the bank of computers. “Considerably,” he added. 

“That goes without saying.” Optimus—fraggit—Orion cocked his head and looked at him, worry and curiosity clear on his faceplates. 

“I am not sure what started it.” Starscream kept his voice level and regretful. “But while you were... _gone_...Megatron has grown more paranoid, more anxious about possible betrayal. Soundwave has aided him in.. _.allaying_ these concerns. Very little is private.”

“Why would Megatron suspect such a thing?” Orion sounded both hurt and confused.

Starscream shrugged. “The circumstances of your disappearance were far from conducive to our leader’s peace of mind.”

“And what were those circumstances?” Orion didn’t loom, just asked, looking anxious.

Starscream froze, glanced at the chronometer. “I’ll tell you later,” he said. “Soundwave’s due back at any moment. Same time tomorrow.” 

Soundwave’s timing, for once, was perfect. Starscream hadn’t expected to encounter that question so early, and he needed to think about how to answer it. Ideally,  Orion would be so very distressed by the revelation that it would be a simple matter to win his trust by offering...whatever comfort was possible (and oh, didn’t that sound promising!). But that was being rather...overenthusiastic. 

Regretful. That was the way to play it. Very regretful. It would absolutely _devastate_ the poor thing, after all. To find that he was the reason for Lord Megatron’s distress. That Lord Megatron saw him as an enemy now, a captive, not a lover. 

That last part wasn’t entirely true; Megatron was certainly conflicted about it, and would love to get Orion’s lovely aft back in his berth, but he wasn’t about to do anything about it. Probably feared that Orion’d get his memories back, though Megatron _really_ wouldn't need to worry about that, as he was _nowhere_ near good enough as to frag someone senseless, let alone knock their memory banks back into alignment. 

Regretful and sympathetic, and carefully not painting the Autobots in a bad light though Primus knew _that_ bit would be hard. And then comfort him, and take him off for a cube and maybe things would progress. 

* * *

All things considered, it was a cheerful Starscream who sauntered into the room that housed Orion’s workstation the next planetary dawn. At least, cheerful until he actually saw Orion, looking at him, arms folded and the diagram of Optimus Prime glowing on the screen behind him.

“I’m Optimus Prime. Aren’t I,” said Orion flatly and Starscream stopped dead in the middle of the room, very glad that the door was shut and wondering what in the Pit he was supposed to say now. He settled on, “Ah…”

Orion’s optics narrowed, battlemask still retracted, mouth a thin line. “Well?”

“Yes,” said Starscream. 

A shudder ran through Orion’s massive frame. He looked up at the screen again, shoulders slumping, sudden despair in every line. His smokestacks might as well be _drooping_. Time to take advantage. 

Starscream sidled forward to put a hand on one massively armored forearm. Orion didn’t seem to notice. Slag it.

“Why?” he whispered, and had Starscream been a soft-sparked sort, the misery in his voice would have had him all sympathy. So he cocked his head up at the bigger mech and trailed his hand down to cover Orion’s. 

Orion stiffened. Starscream froze, wondering if he’d done the exact wrong thing and hoping that he wasn’t about to get clobbered for it. Slowly, Orion looked down at him, and the hand under his turned over and closed, fingers interlacing.

They stayed like that for a few moments, Starscream unsure of what to do, what Orion intended, Orion simply...looking at him, all innocent blue optics and misery. 

“What happened?” he asked after a full cycle went past. “Why did I leave, Starscream? Why did _you_ leave?”

Starscream opened his mouth. Starscream closed his mouth and looked away, trying to figure out how to phrase this. At last he settled on, “Megatron changed.”

“How?” said Orion, voice edged with pain. “How has he changed, if I betrayed him, if _you_ did?”

“Our revolution….tarnished,” said Starscream. “Megatron’s intentions were less noble than I think you hoped, and the Council took full advantage of your...ah, distaste for violence to recruit you to help them reform peacefully.” The way he was talking was precious near Autobot propaganda, but so be it. He _had_ to make the Autobots sound good if he hoped to seek shelter there. “You were subsequently chosen by the Matrix.”

Orion shuttered his optics, looked down at Starscream’s hand in his. Starscream flinched, abruptly realizing just how much bigger Orion’s hand was.

Orion was all concern, pulled away. “Have I injured you?”

“No,” said Starscream, didn’t meet his optics. “Bad memories.” A lie, but Orion put a tentative hand on one of his shoulder plates, which was a step forward.

Starscream happened to glance at the chronometer. “Frag!” he hissed, and ducked away. “Soundwave’s back.”

“Wait,” said Orion. Starscream, foolish as it was, paused. 

“Would you like to refuel together in two megacycles?”

_Excellent_. “Ah… yes, that would be...yes,” he said, cursed himself for a incoherent idiot and left before he damaged his dignity further.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Another charming thing about Orion; he was one of the few mechs who was genuinely glad to see Starscream's face. Granted, the fact that the Eradicons would clearly have nothing to do with him played into this, but Starscream was nothing if not optimistic, and chalked a decent amount of the regard to his natural charm.

He decreased that estimate once he stepped into the room. The gathered mechs all but _seethed_ —most fields reined in tightly, unusual enough in any large gathering, where the play of emotion in a mech's field was as informative as what he was actually _saying_ , and those that weren't alight with resentment and outright rage. All except Knockout, who was watching Orion _far_ more intently that could be ever be conceived polite, making no effort to conceal the flickers of invitation in his field from anyone else. Orion, his field restrained, seemed intent on ignoring him.

Starscream seized a cube, still the piddling standard ration stuff which tasted like Insecticon tank-purge, and wandered over to join Orion as if it were the most natural thing in the galaxy. Orion, surrounded by Eradicons bent on ignoring him and the current subject of Knockout's less than professional regard, greeted him with solemn relief, and the two of them stood there, trying not to make optic-contact with anyone else in the room, keeping their fields tucked in tight.  Though not quite as unwelcome as Prime, Starscream had his own share of enemies.

Given a choice between staring at the deck plates and staring at Orion, Starscream opted for the latter, only to find that Orion was staring back at him. He swallowed hurriedly and said, "We could always finish these somewhere friendlier," perhaps more loudly than he should have—Knockout snorted and turned back to Breakdown, saying something snide.

Orion laughed. It was a quiet laugh, but the sincerity in it cheered Starscream unreasonably. "That is certainly an option," he said, and his field colored with amusement/inquiry. 

Starscream hadn't meant to proposition him that clumsily, but if there'd ever been an indication that he was _open_ to such a proposition, that was it. He hadn't expected Orion to make the first gesture, but slagged if he didn't know a good opportunity when he saw one. He let some of his interest leak into his own field, touched with entirely sincere appreciation, and Orion's optic ridges went up. 

"It may be a good idea," Starscream said aloud, keeping his voice quiet this time. "I find it difficult to... _enjoy_...one's energon while being stared at." This with a pointed look back at Knockout.

Knockout's field flared irritation and tucked in fast, and the knot of flyers near him visibly relaxed. Evidently, watching the medic try and flirt with the amnesiac enemy general was wearing. 

“Then by all means, let us do so,” said Orion.

The moment they were out of the room, Starscream winced, feeling the ghost of a large number of fields released all at once, all relieved, some still angry. Orion was restraining his, but Starscream stood close enough to him that he could sense, faintly,  the profound misery and loneliness Orion felt. He put a hand on Orion's forearm. Some of that unhappiness lifted, not much. 

"We may talk in my quarters," said Orion, and Starscream inclined his helm in agreement; said quarters were probably monitored to all Pit, but where wasn't?

It turned out that what had been termed quarters was hardly more than a berth in a storage room leading off from the room in which Orion's terminal was housed, and not much of a berth at that. To Starscream's evaluating optic, it looked worryingly unstable for any purpose save recharge, and what was the point in _that?_

Apparently Orion felt similarly; he eased himself onto the edge of the berth with some caution, and gestured to the space next to him in invitation. Starscream settled there with as much care, and they sat there for a while, sipping at the energon and, in Starscream’s case, shifting experimentally to see how alarmingly the berth creaked. 

“How many of them have I killed?” asked Orion abruptly, putting the empty cube on the floor next to his pedes. Starscream shuttered his optics at him, unsure of how to respond. 

“Ah…” he said, not sure if he could respond honestly without driving Orion further into misery, and what good would that do his plan?

“I thought so,” said Orion at his hesitation, and looked down at his hands with a set expression that was somehow far worse than outright alarm. “Little wonder,” he murmured after a while, and offlined his optics.

Starscream let his field flare out more, still projecting appreciation, what acceptance he could manage to feel. A good thing he was so adept at manipulating his; some of his own defeats at Prime’s hands still stung, and allowing _that_ into the interaction at this point would be _more_ than counterproductive. Orion started, surprised at the reaction, and very tentatively offered Starscream a hand. Starscream took it, and the huge hand closed around his. 

“And why are you so willing to forgive this?” he asked.

_Because you’re my ticket out of this scrap-heap._ “Because I am as much an outcast as you,” he said. 

Orion’s field began to slowly release, a gentle touch against his own. Still an undercurrent of misery and guilt, but that note of invitation was back, and Starscream flashed a grin at him and ran light fingers along Orion’s forearm, flicking down and under the heavy plating and to the sensitive joint between hand and armor. Orion shifted sideways and took the remains of Starscream’s cube of energon off the berth before it could spill, put his own free hand on Starscream’s shoulder. 

“Are you sure of this?” he asked.

Starscream snorted. “Better than being lonely.”

A flicker of understanding in Orion’s field, and that big hand began to stroke the shoulder plating with infinite care. There was still an edge to Orion’s field, still faint unhappiness, and Starscream hoped that he wasn’t a rebound frag from _Megatron_. He had _standards,_ after all. But he was absolutely certain that he would be able to keep Orion from so much as _thinking_ of the stupid slagger. 

He shifted himself on the berth, pressing his side to Orion’s, the position made difficult by their linked hands. A tremor ran through that massive frame, and an auxiliary ventilator hummed to life. Faint embarrassment at that, but also arousal, and Starscream ceased trying to hold his field in and let it flare with his own desire, which made all of Orion’s ventilators come to life.

_Oooh_. He hadn’t gotten a response like that for _quite_ a while. He stood, positioned himself between Orion’s obligingly spread legs, settled back into the other mech’s lap, putting an arm over his shoulder, and stayed like that, looking into his optics. Slowly, Orion released Starscream’s hand and gently touched his abdominal plating, stroked his side with long, light touches. 

Oh, that wouldn’t do. That was far more interesting than it had any right to be, and there was no way in Pit he was going to let Orion overload him by _petting_ him, that would just be embarrassing. So he wiggled forward in Orion’s lap, tucked his field in tight so Orion couldn’t see his intent, and pushed the far larger mech down flat on the berth, with a care for keeping his helm away from the wall; he knew from experience that forehead plumes and plates could be unreasonably sensitive.

Orion chuckled, and let him take over.

Starscream pressed Orion against the berth, licking and teasing, listening to the bigger mech’s whimpers and gasps. He wondered briefly if Optimus were this responsive, as Orion let out a tiny high-pitched noise and bucked against him. 

“Patience,” he hissed, and shifted his weight over Orion so he could work a finger under a windshield better. He was quite sure he could make Orion overload just by touch, and he was determined to do so. 

He stroked a claw in between two segments of abdominal plating. Orion squirmed, a burst of static tearing from his vocalizer. Starscream bent his helm and ran his glossa between those segments, and was rewarded by an absolutely _wonderful_ little noise. He followed the seam around, up to where it met the red thoracic plating, used a claw to scratch just under a windshield. 

Orion’s ventilators were on full blast now, and he was panting, trying to supplement them. A futile exercise. Starscream swirled his glossa around a surficial sensor, and had the pleasure of hearing the great Optimus Prime moan like a pleasure drone. 

Well, the mech who used to be Optimus Prime. Optimus Prime probably wouldn’t make _this_ noise if someone happened to caress his forehead plate just _so_. Or if someone traced the length of a smokestack and followed it to one of those endearing little blue flares on his pelvic plating, worked a claw under the edge and—

Oops.

Optimus would, however, pin the responsible mech to a berth and subject him to the same—aaah!—treatment. A wonder the rickety berth hadn’t come down on them.

There was a positively wicked look in Orion’s optics now as he leaned down and went to work on Starscream’s abdominal plating. Starscream squirmed and whimpered and throughly enjoyed himself, and that was even _before_ Orion discovered his wings. 

Somehow he managed to worm his way out from under Orion and back on top, but Orion, whatever position he found himself in, could still manage to be _just as enraging_. Blunt fingers stroked the edges of his wings, trembling slightly as he worked his way around the thoracic plating of their owner, started down his front, nibbled on a raised bit in the center of the abdominal plates. 

Hands clenched on his shoulder plating as Orion went into overload. Starscream, his own vents roaring, sat back and waited. To his relief, Orion’s optics flickered back on after only a few klicks. He looked dazed. 

“That was quite...entertaining,” purred Starscream, and crawled forward along the berth, settling himself over Orion’s hips. He stroked the back of a hand over Orion’s face and smiled down at him. 

Orion placed one massive hand on the small of his back and smiled back, a little, mischievous smile.  

“I’m glad to see you agree.” Starscream raised himself a little and opened his interface panel. Orion pushed himself up as well on trembling elbows, and spread his legs, his own panel retracting with a quiet _snick_.

A valve mech, was he? And here Starscream had thought the night couldn’t get _any_ better. A quick examination with a finger, claw carefully tucked out of the way, found him already slick and _very_ responsive. The sound he made was simply _delightful_ , and as for the wide-opticked, open mouthed expression that accompanied it?

There were limits to even Starscream’s patience. He nudged Orion’s legs further apart, running his hands up the insides of his thighs, along those wonderful flanges, and settled them on his hips.

He slid himself in, slowly, _maddeningly_ slowly, but it was worth it to watch Orion arch, vainly attempting to stifle a cry. He withdrew, thrust, and Orion clutched at him, optics shuttered tight, fingers tight around his arms, but not enough so to cause pain. 

Orion’s ventilations hitched and he bucked forward. Starscream chuckled. So that’s how he liked it.

He picked up the pace, rough and hard, and Orion gasped and whimpered and held on to him, the calipers of his valve rippling in the most _maddening_ way, shockingly tight for a mech his size. 

His cooling systems roared still louder, almost a whine, and then there was a feeling of wicked amusement in the field surrounding him, and Orion did _something_ with his valve that precipitated Starscream into an incredible overload.


	4. Chapter 4

When he came back online, it was to find Orion curled around him, a protective hand around his waist, the other pillowing his head. He lay there a few seconds, shocked as he recalled how very well the night had gone. Then he decided to take full advantage of the circumstances and pressed himself back against that warm somnolent form. 

When he onlined the second time, it was to find himself alone, and an urgent ping that he was supposed to have been on the bridge a full three cycles ago. 

He needn’t have bothered with haste; the only occupants of the bridge were Soundwave and a pair of Eradicons, both of whom were probably too busy snickering over something they’d picked up over that human computer network to notice his tardiness. Soundwave never paid attention enough to care about these things, and Starscream slunk over to his accustomed station, and pretended to be immersed in reports. It was _unusual_ behavior—he _loathed_ pad-work at the best of times, but he hoped that Megatron would be pleased enough by it that he would ignore him. It would look like he was trying to...what was the human phrase? Suck up, that was it. Suck up to him in response to his unexpected reinstatement. And then Megatron would not ask where Starscream’d been the night before. 

Speaking of scraplets, here he came. He completely ignored Starscream and stalked over to where Soundwave stood. Soundwave, the pede-licker, straightened up and disconnected his cables from the console, giving Megatron his full attention. Starscream repressed a hiss of disgust as he turned back to his own work. 

Quiet conversation for a while, hard to hear from across the room. Not with the Eradicons trying to be _very_ obvious about working hard, their fingers tapping _audibly_ on the keys. Unnecessary, but he wasn’t about to reprove them for fear of drawing attention to himself. 

“He’s done _WHAT?!_ ”

Starscream stood to attention in involuntary panic, hearing the absolute rage in Megatron’s voice, the harsh brush of his field indicating it to be genuine. Oh Primus, he was _fragged_. Megatron must have found out about last night, slag Soundwave’s voyeuristic tendencies! 

Megatron passed behind him. He pretended absolute interest in a ridiculous report on Autobot activity, which more or less equated to ‘the Autobots are freezing their tailpipes off on a southern continent’, pulled his field in as tight as he could so Megatron wouldn’t sense his anxiety.

But there was no roar, no blow, and he glanced behind him to see Megatron snarling at Soundwave, “It doesn’t matter. Orion Pax _will_ finish Project Iacon, no matter what I must do to him to ensure that he will complete it!”

Wait. It wasn’t him? Starscream glanced back at the report, at Megatron’s retreating form. What in Unicron’s name had Orion _done_?

It didn’t matter. If the mech had fragged up that badly, he, Starscream, was not about to stick his wings out to save him. About time someone else got the brunt of Megatron’s wrath.

And then a horrible mental image struck, Orion, optics wide and innocent. _Starscream mentioned Optimus Prime and I simply followed up…He’s been very helpful._

Starscream froze. No, they had to get off the ship. He looked at the report in front of him, packaged it up in as many layers of code as he could manage, including one that indicated that it was _his_ report and he was presently off the ship, and sent the whole off to Breakdown. 

_“Screamer, what the Pit’s this?_ ”

Ah, respect for authority, an alien concept to the brute. “A report,” he said. “Send it to Lord Megatron once I come aboard. It’s _very_ important,  and he _will_ want to consult me about it after he reads it.”

And he headed off the bridge, ignoring Breakdown’s confusion. 

The rudiments of a plan formed as he went. It all depended on speed and how fast he could get Orion moving, and that Megatron might be a little slow on the uptake about that report. It was certainly swathed in enough technical language to at least _slow_ the uneducated glitch down, but Megatron could be distressingly clever at the very worst of times. 

No matter. Unless Orion happened to have a wealth of hitherto untapped tactical knowledge, they weren’t about to get a better plan.

The Eradicons were already gossiping about the recent explosion, all speculating about the cause of their lord and master’s ire. Starscream heard everything from ‘lover’s spat’ to ‘Optimus got his memory back’ to ‘just found out Knockout’s been fragging the Autobot’ which was uncomfortably close to the current circumstances.

Starscream rounded the corner, heard Megatron’s voice rise, a rumble of anger. Pit with it, if Orion got scrapped _now_ , he’d never get out of here. 

He pressed himself against the wall, heard Orion’s voice say something defiant— _no no no, you stupid slagger, do NOT make him angrier_ —and opened a comm to Breakdown. “Send Megatron the report.”

_“He’s busy, Screamer. Said he wasn’t to be—_ ”

“NOW, Breakdown.”

_“But_ —”

“Remember MECH?”

_“Oh no, you are not calling in that favor_.”

“Do it!”

There was a grumble of assent. Starscream waited, peering around the corner, and then heard a snarl of irritation. The door opened. Megatron stalked off down the corridor. 

_“He’s not happy_ ,” said Breakdown. _“I’m telling him it was your idea_.”

“Go ahead,” said Starscream, and made for the door. 

Orion was on the floor, in the midst of being given a through kicking by one of his guards. The name of the Eradicon escaped Starscream—the mech did have a reputation for being rather unpleasant. The other guard looked as if he desperately wanted to join in. 

Starscream shot both of them, seized a shocked Orion by the arm (as best he could) and snarled, “Come on!”

“I don’t understand,” started Orion. Starscream wondered how in the Pit the leader of the Autobots could be so _stupid_ , and ran for the door. “Megatron will be back any moment. Do you want to be scrapped?”

No response. Evidently, that had been sufficient explanation. 

They ran. Starscream would have loved to change to his alt mode, but that would have left Orion behind, and this entire exercise would be pointless. But the alarm had yet to be raised—they passed a lot of confused crew, but no one made a move to stop them until they were just outside the groundbridge.

_“STARSCREAM!”_ Megatron’s voice roared into his personal comm, and Starscream shook his head as his audials offlined involuntarily. He rebooted them in time to hear the tail end of a series of threats, and the groundbridge operator’s shocked demand of what the slag he was doing down here. He shoved the bot away from his station, set coordinates at random, and pushed Orion through the bridge in front of him. 

They tumbled out into a stand of particularly _resilient_ local flora, which let off a pungent stink at being crushed. Orion shuttered his optics, then stared, probably amazed at his first encounter with organic life. He’d be picking said encounter out of his plating for _megacycles_. Starscream wondered if he might be allowed to help with that. 

He sent a message to the Autobots, not bothering to encrypt it—they were in deep enough trouble already. _Have Optimus. Groundbridge to my coordinates, NOW._

He hauled Orion out of the local biota, or tried to, hauling went so much better when the mech in question wasn’t three times your size, and started running. The bridge didn’t close. _Really_ bad sign. 

A bolt tore up the ground ahead of them. Starscream only just quashed the impulse to transform. He _could_ leave Orion to fend for himself, but then all of this _ridiculous_ effort would be put to waste, and Megatron would go after him _anyway_. 

A second bolt knocked him off his pedes. Orion helped him scramble upright, concerned, confused, but the utter _trust_ on his face was exhilarating. He really believed this was all for his benefit. 

And then finally another groundbridge opened and Starscream had never in his life been happier to see Autobots. Orion flinched away—as well he might. Starscream had crafted some of that propaganda, and it was very good if he said so himself. 

Megatron didn’t retreat. The Autobots did, forming a protective wedge around a very confused Orion. Of which Starscream was very much left out. That wouldn’t do. He was _not_ being left here to Megatron’s tender mercies.

There was one way he could assureentry into the Autobot base. Starscream groaned. He _hated_ this part of the plan. 

But there was Orion, looking at him with trusting, admiring optics, and the Autobots would surely be unable to refuse their leader’s insistence. Which the glitch would certainly give, after that last little encounter. 

And so, as the other Autobots scrambled into the groundbridge, Starscream stepped in front of a bolt meant for Optimus.

_Fragfragfrag_ right in the slagging _wing_! He had _not_ meant to get hit _there_ and it slagging _hurt_ like the _Pit_! _Bad_ idea, very bad idea, what had he been _thinking_? Someone was making a high-pitched, ragged sound of pain, probably him, and since when was he such a self-sacrificing _glitch_? This was the absolute _worst_ idea he’d had in a very _long_ time. 

He howled when someone picked him up and slung him over a shoulder, heard raised voices, arguing, Orion responding, angry. Had it worked? Didn’t matter, hurt too much. The wing was jostled. 

Starscream didn’t even have to pretend to offline. 


	5. Chapter 5

There was a hand over his, uncomfortably tight, a familiar voice speaking, determination in every word. Optimus arguing with someone. No, Orion. Whatever he was calling himself these days. 

His wing ached. A quick diagnostic found most of the pain sensors there disabled.  Not that bad. Well, painful. Unpleasant. But even he had to admit he’d had worse. 

The hand clenched, its owner shifting, protective. 

“No,” said Orion. “I do owe him gratitude, and we will _not_ abandon him.”

“You mean to tell me that that ‘Con is going to be hanging around here for the foreseeable future? If no one remembers, he’s already made his allegiance clear.” The smaller voice was familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Not pleasant, though. “If you’re not about to get rid of him, we have people—”

“ _No_ ,” said Orion again, and the hand tightened again. 

Perfect. No, with less pain it would be perfect. Time to play pitiful. He was _good_ at pitiful. 

He moaned and twitched. Orion shifted. “Starscream?”

He shuttered his optics a few times, looked around, taking care to look worried and scared. “Where are we?” 

“The Autobot base,” said Orion. “I think.”

“Orion insisted,” said another voice, Ratchet’s, and Starscream flinched back against the gurney. “Against all protests.”

“He was responsible for my rescue,” said Orion.

Starscream let out a theatrical little moan.

“You’re fooling no one,” snapped Ratchet, and leaned over him, flicking on a scanner. Starscream flinched at the flash of light. Orion put a comforting hand over his shoulder, stroking gently along the edge of the plating. 

It actually helped. Starscream relaxed, even with Ratchet’s intolerant optics on him. 

“You’ll be fine,” the medic said. “Stay off the wing for a week,” Starscream and Orion looked at each other in confusion, unfamiliar with human time units, “and you’ll make a full recovery.” _More’s the pity_ remained unsaid, but Ratchet’s field as good as said it for him. Orion gave him a disapproving look. 

“May I at _least_ get up?” said Starscream, pointedly. His response was a curt nod, and he carefully pushed himself upright, wincing as he tried to shift his wings for balance and quickly thought better of it. “How long?”

“A few hours,” said that other voice, and Starscream looked up to see a human leaning against a railing beside the bank of computers. 

“You seem...familiar,” said Starscream, though really, all humans looked alike. 

“That’s because you’ve threatened me before,” said the human, and rearranged its tiny features in a glare. “Energon prod bring anything to mind?”

Really it brought Knockout to mind, but he could see what the human was getting at. “Oh, that,” he said, and shaded his field guilty as best he could while not actually feeling anything of the sort. “I do apologize for that...incident. Megatron’s imminent return placed considerable pressure upon all of us, but involving you was a mistake. One I _deeply_ regret. I trust you sustained no lasting damage?” 

“None,” said the human in a tone that indicated it didn’t believe a word he’d said. Starscream mentally shrugged. He had Orion on his side, didn’t he? It wasn’t as if the Autobots would allow a human to overrule their beloved leader.

He snuck a glance sideways at said beloved leader, who looked disturbed. Oh dear. Orion was just as soft-sparked as Optimus had been. He’d have to play very repentant. But he’d had practice with Megatron; it shouldn’t be much of an issue.

“So,” he said, getting to his pedes, “What next? Do we just sit here and get stared at for the rest of our stay?”

“Starscream,” Orion said, a quiet reproof. He _almost_ reacted the way he would have if Megatron had given him such an order—bristle and complain—but he looked at Orion’s expression, felt the concern in his field, and put a lid on it. 

“No,” said Ratchet, grudging, his optics still on Starscream. Whoever said that medics were soft had been slagged wrong. He wasn’t quite as terrifying as Knockout was, but Starscream lowered his wings, winced, and settled for hunching himself small. “But Starscream has potentially valuable information.”

A flare of distress from Orion. Ratchet picked up on that, an echo of worry flickering through his own field, quickly quashed. 

“I am more than happy to tell you what you want to know,” said Starscream quickly. He’d seen what Ratchet had done to one of the miners, and reminded himself that the Autobots were his best hope of survival. 

That didn’t sit well. But he remembered the weakness, the near-nausea of an empty tank, and tried to project resolve. 

And, by the responses in faces and fields, failed miserably. 

“I…” he started, faltered, bowed his helm. “It is difficult, defecting after such a long time in Megatron’s service, but I truly believe that what our cause has tarnished, been worn away by petty concerns and an obsession with the conquest of a planet not our own.”

“Really?” The skepticism in Arcee’s voice should have killed the femme on the spot.

“Really,” said Starscream. “It’s filled with organic organisms and _mud_ , after all. Other than energon, it would be best left well enough alone.” A human made an indignant noise. “Present company excepted,” he added.

Arcee looked at Bulkhead. The big oaf shrugged.

That conversation dealt with, Starscream looked at Ratchet. “Well? Are you going to question me or not?”

That got surprise out of Ratchet. Starscream wondered if the Autobots were even _able_ to control their fields. His was not to question why; if they were stupid enough to take a field as a be-all and end-all indicator, who was he to disabuse them?

“We are looking for Megatron’s new spacebridge,” said Ratchet, after a while. “Where is it located?”

“It won’t be finished for a few more planetary rotations at the least.” Starscream shook his helm. “I _can_ give you coordinates, for all the good that will do you.”

“That will be more than sufficient,” said Ratchet. “Now, about the plans…”

It was well into the planetary night when they guided him to a room—obviously long disused for anything save storage, with a pile of crates covered with a thin foam mat, obviously intended as a berth. He poked the foam, found his claw went right through it. Cheap human stuff. Even the brigs on the _Nemesis_ had better berthing than this. 

He heaved a long ex-vent. Maybe Prime had a better berth. Maybe Orion would let him share it. 

With that delightful thought in processor, he went in search of Orion.

* * *

 

Prime’s quarters took some finding, and a quick glance at the berth determined that, while an improvement on the packing crates situation, it was hardly better than the one on the Nemesis. And _Primus_ , these quarters were barer than even Megatron’s! Megatron, at least, had bothered to have the Decepticon symbol painted on the wall. What this one did have was a lot of datapads. 

And currently, a very dejected Orion Pax settled on the berth and looking at his hands. 

“Hello,” said Starscream, stepped in and leaned against the doorframe, eyeing the door askance. It simply slid back and forth, no elegance to it at all, and a complete lack of any sort of protection. 

The door opened again. He moved back and away from it. “Human technology?”

“I didn’t ask.”

He looked up. This must have also been a storage room; pipes tangled overhead, an arrangement devoid of aesthetic appeal (and while he would be the first to admit that function was more important than form, if only to spite Knockout, in living quarters it was...not right) and labeled copiously in human glyphs that his language subroutines struggled to make out. _Industrial Hot Water, DI Water, Industrial Cold Water, Roof, Sewage Outflow._

“Well,” he said, “We made it.”

“I did,” said Orion. 

“I’m right here—oh.” Starscream looked at his wing. “I’ve had worse. _Really_.” Well, not often, but he’d gotten what he wanted even if the wing hurt like Pit. Sympathy from Orion was a bonus. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” said Orion. “Of the two of us, you are far more valuable.”

Starscream snorted. “The Autobots would say that you are the most valuable mech in this base,” he said. 

Orion looked even more distressed. “But…”

Starscream pushed himself away from the wall and walked over to Orion.  “And I would be inclined to agree,” he said, and grinned. How often did you get to use a line as ridiculous as _that_?

“Would you,” said Orion, and looked at him with a hurt hope in his optics. Starscream settled himself next to him and took one massive hand in his own. 

“Oh, beyond doubt,” he said. The hand closed around his, very gently. 

“They know me as someone else entirely,” said Orion after a while. “I turn and I see such _hope_ in their optics, expectation, and I...I cannot but think that they’re wrong.” He ex-vented heavily. “They see a Prime—and I am not a Prime.”

“You might yet surprise yourself,” said Starscream, privately reflecting that most of his idea of what a Prime was had been gained through millennia of being pounded into the muck by one. The less of a Prime Orion was, the better. 

“I hope I am worthy of such confidence,” said Orion, and ex-vented again. “What have I done, Starscream? To inspire such hatred among my old companions, and such admiration here?”

“Many things,” said Starscream, and hoped he wouldn’t ask for specifics. It would make things worse. 

“And you…” Orion turned to look at him, considering. “You, Starscream, are the only one I have encountered who takes me as I am. You seem to expect no more from me than companionship.”

_And safety_. _Possibly a good frag_.  Starscream shrugged. “I’m in much the same position,” he said. “I’m unwelcome wherever I go, met with unrealistic expectations or hatred.”

That massive hand disentangled itself from his, and an arm wrapped around him, pulling him close. Orion was very careful of his wing, and Starscream leaned into him, almost purring with the pleasure of that gentle touch. A bit of mischief awoke, and he flicked his glossa against the side of one of Orion’s windshields, was rewarded by a ridiculously little high-pitched noise, and a flicker of amusement and pleasure.

“So it’s more than merely companionship,” Orion said.

“What can I say?” Starscream looked wickedly up at him, radiating intent. “You’re _wonderful_ in the berth.”

* * *

They didn’t fall into recharge immediately after that, just lay curled around each other, Starscream pressed tight against Orion’s chest, enjoying the sheer feeling of safety in his presence. No one would dare to attack him around Orion. Except Megatron, but he didn’t know where this base was, now did he? 

With that happy thought, Starscream pressed himself more firmly against Orion, and offlined his optics.


	6. Chapter 6

“He’s _here_?!” The small shrill human voice reached Starscream’s audials even before he entered the main room of the base, and he winced. The tiny human female, wasn’t it?

“I wanna _see!_ ”

“Miko, I’m not sure if that’s—” Bulkhead didn’t finish the sentence before something extremely small came bounding down the stairs and skidded to a halt in front of Starscream, all wet optics and lumpy features and delighted expression. Starscream took a step back. 

“ _Wow!_ ” said Miko. “Man, I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you when you weren’t trying to kill someone!”

There wasn’t really a response to that. 

She advanced on him. He took another step away, concerned about the reaction the Autobots would have if he accidentally squashed one of the pets. 

“And,” said Miko, “If you _do_ try to hurt _anyone_ , you’re gonna have to deal with me, got it?”

“Er,” he said, deciding that telling the little creature that she really wasn’t that intimidating wasn’t a good course of action. 

“Alright. Now we’ve got that sorted—You’re really a jet? How fast can you go? Can you do loop-de-loops? Have you ever accidentally swallowed a bird? What are your high heels for?”

“I…” Starscream trailed off and looked to Ratchet for help. Ratchet stolidly ignored him. 

Out of desperation, he answered her questions, even the one about the bird. He’d been hacking up feathers and picking them out of his intakes for _ages_. He had to have the ‘high heels’ explained, which took up enough of her attention to keep her from demanding an answer. 

“ _Awesome_ ,” she said at last, and then, “Can you take me for a ride?”

“No!” He and Ratchet spoke as one, then looked at each other, embarrassed. 

“I’ve been given doctor’s orders to stay off this wing,” he explained, because the human looked like she might start keening like a sparkling at any moment. “And...well, the forces involved might squash you into goo. I cannot,” and this all for show, since really he was more concerned with the state of his cockpit than the human’s safety, “in good conscience allow it.”

Ratchet’s field flared hostility. Oh dear, someone didn’t believe that. Well, too bad for him. 

“Aw,” said Miko. “Did Megatron do that?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, he did.”

She plopped down on the floor at his pedes. “Tell me _all_ about it!”

Well, you had to give credit to the human; she was a good listener. As soon as that story was done with, she demanded another, and another, and at last Ratchet groaned and threw the two of them out of the main room. 

Which got him a tour of the base, albeit with Bulkhead stomping along behind them, suspicious optics on Starscream the whole time. But Bulkhead wasn’t nearly as bad as Soundwave, and easily ignorable. 

Miko aside, after the first few megacycles, the forced inactivity became increasingly wearing. No flying, just staying in the base with Autobots peering suspiciously at him every time he so much as _twitched_. Miko was the only one there, besides Orion, who was actually happy to see him, and after she went home for the day, Starscream found himself standing uselessly in a corner of their main room, dead bored. Orion was deeply absorbed in reading something about humans, and Agent Fowler was nowhere to be seen, though there was no indication that he had actually _left._  

Well. If that was how everyone was going to behave, he would entertain himself. He turned around and headed for the door. 

It was outside what passed for their armory that the Autobots surrounded him. All of them. Including Agent Fowler, standing on Ratchet’s shoulder to avoid being squashed under a careless pede. 

Starscream took a step back and almost ran into the wall. The bots _seethed_ with dislike and suspicion and he felt a sudden acute pang of sympathy for what Orion must have put up with on the Nemesis. 

“What do you want?” he demanded, voice shrilling. An edge of fear got into his field before he could repress it, and Arcee’s expression went nastily satisfied. 

“We know what you’re doing,” said Arcee. 

“You do?” He did run into the wall, and winced away from it. “I mean, what exactly do you think I’m doing?”

“Using Optimus,” said Ratchet, and his field flared up hot and angry. Oohohoo, someone was _jealous._ And had heard their little session last night. Heh. 

“And why would I be doing that?” he said aloud.

“For some twisted reason of your own, undoubtably,” said Ratchet.

“How specific.” Starscream smirked. “If any of you have...concerns about my, ah, _relationship_ with _Orion_ ,” and oh, it was worth it to see Ratchet wince at that name, “I’ll have you know that he was the initiating party.”

“After considerable prompting from you, I am sure.”

“Ratchet, you _wound_ me,” said Starscream, putting a hand over his spark and raising his optic ridges. “You think me incapable of developing a romantic attachment without ulterior motive? Or that no one would want to ‘face me,” and Ratchet’s expression was an absolute delight, “if I didn’t manipulate them into doing so?”

Bulkhead’s hand caught him around the neck and slammed him into the wall. Starscream yelped as the injured wing was flattened. 

“I don’t care what you said to him,” Bulkhead growled. “He’s not your toy, and you’re not playing any of your sick little games with him. You hurt him and—” 

The bigger bot froze, looking down the corridor. Starscream looked too, and relief flooded his field. 

Orion, all disappointment and anger—and Starscream could feel the wash of his field from _here_ — started toward them. Bulkhead put Starscream down. 

“What are you doing?” There was hurt and betrayal and a _lot_ of anger in Orion’s voice. The Autobots stepped aside. Starscream made a show of resettling his wings and wincing, keeping the relief in his field. 

“Optimus—Orion…” Ratchet started, and trailed off, probably because Starscream sidled over to Orion and pressed himself close, fear in every line of his frame. 

“Whatever Starscream has done in the past, he has made an effort at very great risk to reform,” said Orion, and put a hand on Starscream’s shoulder. Starscream leaned into the touch, half-shuttering his optics. He added a little shiver for effect. 

The Autobots’ fields were all tightly tucked in and nearly unreadable. Starscream smirked at them, careful to keep his own field under control. Wouldn’t do to have Orion finding out just how happy he was about the Autobots’ embarrassment...

“We will discuss this further at a later date,” said Orion, that hand tightening over Starsceam’s shoulder, protective. He turned on his heel and left, pulling Starscream along with him. 

The anger dimmed as they went, and when they arrived in Optimus’s quarters, it had changed entirely to concern. 

“Are you all right?” he asked, already moving forward to examine Starscream’s wing. 

“Fine,” said Starscream, dismissively, remembered who he was talking to, and added, “Somewhat shaken, of course. But _physically,_ fine.”

Orion pulled him into a gentle embrace. Starscream flinched, feeling trapped, but reminded himself that this was Orion, and forced himself to relax. 

“Have I hurt you?” 

“No,” said Starscream, and put a hand on one of those wonderful pelvic flares and leaned up to look Orion in the optic. "I am just not...accustomed to being able to _trust_ someone so close to me." As soon as he said it, he realized it was true, and that made his spark twist uncomfortably within him. He looked away, kicking himself for telling Orion something so personal, and Orion stroked a blunt thumb along the edge of his jaw.

"I am glad that you think of me as someone you can trust," he said.

Starscream snorted. "Not by any design of mine," he said, before he could think better of it. "I just wanted company."

"So did I." Orion began to play with his neck cables, gentle touches, not threatening. Starscream hummed a purr and stroked the length of Orion's sides. 

"I am sorry," said Orion, pausing. "I didn't realize that you would be greeted so coldly by the Autobots. If I had known--"

"What, you would have insisted that we go hide in the wilderness of this forsaken planet?" Starscream pressed himself flush to Orion, and looked up along his windshields. "That worked out _so_ well for me last time. I can tolerate hostile fields. I had enough of it on the _Nemesis_."

"Even so, I do not wish to see you unhappy." Orion petted a wing with the flat of a hand. 

"I'm _hardly_ unhappy," said Starscream, and leaned down and nibbled the top of a pelvic flare. 

The flood of arousal in Orion's field was enough to make his interface panel slide open, but he ignored it and continued his way down the edge of that flare, nibbling and licking, and then traced the edge of Orion's array. Orion made a little binary noise and trembled.

"Case in point," Starscream said, vocalizer husking static. "How could I _possibly_ be unhappy with you around?"

He circled the base of Orion's erect spike with his glossa, hearing the whimper above him. Hm. If he was that sensitive...

He took the spike in his mouth, and Orion let out a burst of static, vocalizer completely offlined. Much encouraged, Starscream ran his glossa over the tip of the spike, moved his helm so he could stroke the length of it, paying especial attention to the host of tiny sensor nodes on the ventral portion.

Orion tried to reboot his vocalizer. It didn't help the static. He made an aborted thrust, tried to contain himself, and Starscream put a hand on his hip to keep him in place. _Not yet you don't_. 

Oh, it was _fun_ to watch the former leader of the Autobots slide down the wall into a gasping, strutless heap, legs thrown wide apart and valve leaking lubricant. Starscream ran a finger along the edge of it, and Orion let out a squeal of static and overloaded.

Starscream made sure Orion was online and could see him before he swallowed, and grinned. "On the berth," he said, getting back to his pedes. "Now."

Orion's optics widened, field flaring up in sudden brilliant arousal and did as he was told. 

Starscream advanced on him deliberately, enjoying the way Orion watched him, ventilators all but shrieking with the extra heat, the way those long, long legs spread as he came closer. 

He settled in Orion's lap, teasing his valve with the tip of his spike, and stayed there a few moments until he could bear it no longer and sheathed himself in one hard thrust. Orion's fans stuttered, and huge hands clenched around his waist. 

Starscream leaned forward and sucked at the tip of his forehead plating, thrust roughly again, and the sheer pleasure in Orion's field washed over him in a wave. 

"You really _do_ like this," he growled into Orion's audial. "Someone on top of you, telling you what to do, making you feel so very good..."

Static. Click of resetting vocalizer. "Starscream, please..."

"Yes?" He thrust again, restraining himself with every scrap of self-control that he possessed. He wanted to keep going, not stop, feel that delicious wet heat clench down hard around him, those long legs wrap tight and possessive about his waist. 

"Move, harder, _please_!"

He leaned forward, licked the edge of the audial. "Of course," he said, and shoved himself in, hard, set a bruising pace and Orion cried out and clutched at him, valve clamping down tight. 

They overloaded, Orion's field wrapping around him and dragging him over with Orion, and when they onlined again it was to slip into a deep, contented recharge.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Starscream spent the morning in a contented haze. Which was more than he could say for Orion, who was still recharging. He wandered into the main room of the base, and found Ratchet, his field viciously angry and expanded to fill the entire room. Starscream ignored it and sauntered up behind the medic,  leaned over his shoulder to look at what he was doing, and was rewarded with a hard shove back. 

"Was that necessary?" he asked, though not as nastily as he could have. "I just wanted to see if I could _help_." 

"I am waiting for contact from Arcee to ascertain whether the space bridge is where you said it would be, a task that would be considerably easier if you weren't _hovering_ behind me."

"I'm _hardly_ hovering," said Starscream, but backed off. 

Ratchet turned to glare at him. "We do have washracks," he said. "I suggest that you avail yourself of them."

Starscream looked down at his ventral plating. Spots and smears of red and blue paint festooned him from shoulder to knee. "Oh, that," he said. "In the heat of the moment, I fear I...forgot."

A flare of horrified anger/embarrassment and Ratchet turned his back on him and busied himself with the computer again. Starscream turned to leave. 

Here came Orion, rather cleaner than he, some new scrapes on his front but not many. There was an irrational surge of pleasure at the sight of him that had nothing to do with the state of his paint, and Starscream made sure to brush a wing against him on his way out the door. Orion turned to look at him with surprise and pleasure and Starscream flared affection at him and continued on his way.

It was only when he was in the washracks that he realized he’d _meant_ it. Sincerely. No manipulation of his field. He hesitated, still scrubbing at a paint stain, horror washing through him. No. He wasn’t such a fool. It had been a fleeting _moment_ , no more. He’d just...have to be more careful. Not get as attached. Because Orion would get his memories back soon enough and become Optimus and where would that leave him? Out in the cold, that’s where. On top of those packing crates with the pathetic human foam padding. 

Well. Hopefully not. If he was having such…lapses, surely Orion was still more attached?

Cheered by that thought, he sauntered back out into the hallway some time later, satisfied that his plating had been returned to its usual neat gleam, and found Miko. 

“I was wondering where you went!” she said. “Come on, they’re due back any minute!”

“I was unaware that it took so long for the functionality of a spacebridge to be assessed,” said Starscream, acidly. 

Miko didn’t seem to pick up on it. “Just come on already!” She turned and started down the hall, all but bouncing. Starscream heaved a heavy, irritated ex-vent and followed.

Miko stopped dead in the middle of the corridor and screamed. He leveled an arm at the patch of floor she was staring at, then paused. "What, exactly, was that about?"

"SPIDER!"

Starscream leaned down. A small blot came into focus, little larger than Miko's hand. "That?" he asked, pointing at it. Miko nodded, optics wide. 

"It's _tiny,_ " he said.

"No it is _not!_ "

"It's smaller than you are."

"Just look at it, would you?"

"Why?"

"Just do it, okay?"

Starscream looked, bending close and bringing his magnification subroutines online. 

Too many optics. Fangs. Sharp fangs. Hair. Lots of legs. It looked like Arachnid but without the charming color scheme. It had claws. And far too many mouthparts. And the optics were blank and black and staring. 

It lunged at him. Starscream shrieked, picked Miko up and scrambled back. 

"See, I told you!" said Miko. 

"What _is_ that?"

"It's a spider!"

"It's fragging terrifying!"

The spider moved. Both of them screamed again. 

"Miko? Starscream?" Raf's voice echoed down the hall, worried. Both turned to look. "What's wrong?"

"Spider," said Miko. "It's _huge_." 

"Again?" Raf made his way toward then, tiny legs working furiously. He stopped by the spider and bent. "Oh. It's just a tarantula." 

"Just?" said Starscream. "It's slagging enormous."

"I guess it's a little bigger than average, but they don't bite much." Raf reached for the spider. Starscream and Miko sucked in an alarmed gasp, and Raf lifted the spider and put it on the shoulder of his shirt. "Okay," he said, "I'm gonna take care of it until I can ask Ratchet to send me back with this to their real range. Somewhere in California, I think. See you." 

And with that, he walked away. 

"He picked it up," said Starscream.

"He put it on his shirt," said Miko. "Ew."

"No wonder Soundwave has so much trouble with him." 


	8. Chapter 8

“The spacebridge is almost finished,” said Ratchet. “We should be able to take it tomorrow.”

“Sweet!” said Miko, and Starscream turned his attention away from the rest of the Autobots to Orion, who stood on the edge of the crowd, optics half-shuttered, looking down at his pedes. 

That unease rose in his spark again, and he moved closer to Orion. Orion’s field curled around him in gentle welcome, and he extended his as well, not bothering to hide his anxiety. 

Orion placed a hand on the center of his back, projecting comfort and reassurance, and he stood there as Ratchet and the humans droned on and on. The touch of anxiety settled deep in him and refused to leave. Orion’s presence was small comfort. One way or another, he would not be there tomorrow. 

At last, the humans left and he and Orion could seek some kind of privacy. It was a great relief when the door slid shut, and Orion pulled him tight against him. “What was it?” he asked quietly. “You’re upset.”

Starscream shrugged. “I’m not too happy about tomorrow.”

“I am assured that I must have trusted Jack with the Key to Vector Sigma for good reason,” said Orion. “And Ratchet has every confidence in the Autobots’ combat skills.”

Starscream made an uneasy noise and tightened his grip on Orion’s waist. “It’s not that.”

A pause. “You’re worried about my memories,” said Orion. 

Starscream curled closer to him, nodded. “Believe it or not, you usually can’t stand me.”

A chuckle, and a hand stroked the back of his helm. “I am sure that it will be no problem in the future.”

“Really?” He tried to put more sarcasm in the word, but it came out flat instead, far more worried than he wanted. He stiffened and looked away.

The movement of the hand stopped. “Your actions have spoken for themselves,” said Orion. “Whatever other memories I may have of you, these ones are more than enough to counter them.” 

_Soft-sparked fool_ , Starscream thought. _The only reason I’m worried is because you might leave me to Megatron’s tender mercies as soon as you have your precious Matrix back._ And he was lying to himself, he knew it. That was not the reason for tightening his grip on Orion, as if he would vanish into smoke if he loosened his hold.

Orion’s hand drifted lower, stroking the edge of one of his wings. Starscream moaned and pressed back against the touch. It was _terribly_ hard to concentrate on serious matters when he did that! 

Blunt fingers made circles over plating, pausing halfway up his wing. Starscream squirmed, clutching at Orion’s arm. “Oh! Yes, there, harder—”

Orion’s hand, maddeningly, didn’t move. He pressed his helm against Starscream’s, pulled him in closer. “Whatever happens, you will be safe,” he said. “I will make sure of it. _Trust_ me, Starscream.”

Orion’s fingers had a positively addling effect, because Starscream almost believed him. 

He reached up and stroked the edges of Orion’s antennae, reset his vocalizer. “I’d say I was going to hold you to that,” he said, “But...I think it might be unnecessary.”

“Only might?” Gentle amusement. One hand slid down the length of Starscream’s back, tightened around his waist, blunt fingers fluttering against his dorsal plating. 

Starscream took a step back toward the berth, pulling Orion with him. “Might,” he said. “Just...frag me through the berth already, would you?” It came out uncertain and needy, not flippant, and Orion smiled at him, gentle and understanding. 

“As you wish,” he said, and lifted Starscream bodily. Starscream made an undignified yelp, which caused Orion to chuckle. 

Orion put him down with great care, arranging him on his back and gently urging his legs apart, positioning himself between them. He stroked Starscream’s sides, cupped his helm in one massive hand, brushing a thumb over Starscream’s mouth. A finger stroked the edge of his valve, pressed inward. He moaned and arched into the touch. Orion placed a gentle hand on his chest to keep him where he was and leaned forward to mouth his forehead plume. 

The finger in his valve began to move, stroking sensor nodes, always pressing deeper. He gasped and writhed, optics offlined. Orion’s field was gently pleased, fiercely aroused. 

The first overload struck without warning, and Starscream arched up against Orion, clutching at him, and Orion’s mouth closed over his, muffling his cry.

He didn’t fully offline, clawed his way back and pressed down against Orion’s panel with a little needy noise. Orion’s chassis heaved with the effort of venting excess heat; the panel opened under him, spike pressurizing. 

Starscream lifted himself, spread his legs wider. “What are you waiting for?” he demanded, more static than words.

“I don’t want to hurt you—” Orion’s vocalizer was in much the same state as his own, and Starscream felt him trembling with the effort of holding still. 

“Don’t slagging _worry!_ ” gasped Starscream, and Orion laid a gentle hand on his waist and pressed into him slowly. Starscream wrapped his legs tight around him and Orion moaned, hips twitching forward. 

Starscream reached up and wrapped his arms around Orion’s neck. He pressed his helm to Orion’s, looked into the unfocused blue optics. “Come on, big bot,” he growled. “ _Frag_ me.”

Orion began to move, gently at first, then harder. Starscream threw his helm back and rasped static, not caring who heard them. Hot dry air washed over him, Orion’s scent everywhere, oil and hot metal and burning dust and some musk he couldn’t identify but smelled like _home_ , and he rippled his valve around Orion. 

Orion shuddered, thrust, a moment later cried out in overload, and Starscream vented hard as heat filled him, bucked his hips again. His vision burst into static, pleasure and raging fierce emotion whiting out his processor. 

He came online as Orion withdrew and rolled to the side to collapse strutless on the berth. Starscream followed him, pressing himself against the big hot frame, heedless of his own frame’s attempts to cool, and wrapped an arm up and around Orion’s shoulders. He pressed his head in against Orion’s neck and lay there a few moments, recharge tugging at his every circuit.

Orion wasn’t quite in recharge either, his optics a dim glow behind half-closed shutters, and Starscream reached to trail a hand along the edge of his face, tracing the seams that hid his battlemask, the sensitive circumference of his audials. Orion shuttered his optics slowly, and curled an arm around his waist, and offlined his optics.

“...love you,” Starscream whispered, and then went still in shock as he realized what he’d said. He almost tried to backpedal, to say he didn’t mean it, but, Orion, ever considerate, pretended he hadn’t heard it. 


	9. Chapter 9

Despite the lingering comfort of Orion’s touch, the deep misgiving returned as he waited for some news of the Autobots’ infiltration attempt. There had already been some small kerfuffle, during which Agent Fowler had to impersonate a Vehicon, which was amusing to say the least, and then silence. Long silence. 

Starscream didn’t pay attention to much of it, leaning against the railing and staring blankly at the screen, until Orion made a startled sound and drew back. Starscream shook his helm and shuttered his optics, catching the tail end of Ratchet’s voice rising with a note of panic in it he’d never heard before. 

“Megatron is there?” said June, optics wide, and Orion took two fast stumbling steps back from the computers and turned to face the groundbridge. 

He frowned at his arms and with a clashing of metal brought out his blades, looking unhappy but unsurprised when they appeared. “I will see what I can do,” he said, 

“Orion, we need you safe here—” Agent Fowler turned away from the computer.

“Orion—” started Starscream, but he was already gone. Starscream snarled and started after him, ignoring the clamor that arose from the humans. 

“Orion, stop!” He seized Orion’s arm. Orion turned and looked down at him, and Starscream took a step back—the battlemask made him look entirely too much like Optimus for comfort. 

A flicker of distress showed on the faceplates above the mask, and Orion retracted it, concern and determination in his optics. “I will not let them face Megatron alone for my sake,” he said. 

“And a lot of good all of this’ll do them if you get scrapped.” Starscream tugged at his arm. “Don’t be absurd. Come _on_.”

Orion pulled free. “I will not ask you to follow,” he said. “But this I must do.” The mask went up again, and he started forward. 

Starscream stood where he was, growing fear rolling in his tanks. If Orion was killed—well, the Autobots had already proven themselves throughly incompetent without Optimus. Megatron would then be free to come after him.  

He couldn’t face Megatron again. Megatron would kill him. The idea of that implacable, vicious rage focused on him froze him where he was, servos clenching and unclenching as Orion vanished from view. 

There was nothing he could do. 

Save go after Orion. 

He turned around. They could hardly blame him for this. It wasn’t his fault that Orion had decided to go charging off in a fit of blind, self-centered stupidity. They’d told him to mind the base, and that was _exactly_ what he was going to do, unlike others he could name. 

And then he stopped again. There was something unbearable about the thought of  Orion once again in Megatron’s hands, Orion hurt out of idealistic stupidity.

Before the more sensible bits of his processor could override it, he transformed and barreled out of the groundbridge after Orion. 

Megatron saw him. Megatron must have expected him. The cannon bolt knocked him out of the air and alt form and slammed him into one of the spacebridge pylons. He slid down it, thudded into the ground, agony singing through every sensor. A hot pain in his side flared with every ventilation. 

Well, he thought, fighting not to offline then and there, they couldn’t say he hadn’t _tried_...

A crash. He pushed himself up, a hand clamped over the pain in his side, energon seeping hot through his claws, expecting to see Megatron bearing down on him. Instead, he saw Orion get lifted clear off his pedes by a blow. 

Orion landed, tried to get upright, but Megatron was waiting for him. Two hard kicks flattened him again, and Megatron kept him there, a pede on his chest, leaned over him, the tip of his sword under Orion’s chin, a smirk twisting his mouth. Orion looked up at him, optics wide. 

None of the other Autobots were anywhere to be seen. 

Clearly, this plan had been a spectacular failure. The best he could hope to do would be to flee before Megatron finished up with Orion. Perhaps he could get far enough away that Megatron wouldn’t see it as worthwhile to come after him. Not ideal, but he had little choice. 

He scrabbled back out of Megatron’s view, hoping that his wound wouldn’t keep him from shifting to his alt form. 

“I’m not going to kill you,” he heard Megatron say, and he flinched into the shadow of the pylon. “You _will_ finish Project Iacon. No matter what condition you are in by the end of it.”

Orion made an involuntary pained sound, more a gasp than a cry. 

Starscream froze, remembering another Autobot screaming under Megatron’s claws, the scout’s yellow chassis writhing helplessly. Remembered Orion, gentle and _responsive_ and _so_ very sensitive in so many places. _Whatever happens, you will be safe...Trust me, Starscream._

He rose, still clutching his side, took careful aim at the back of Megatron’s helm, and fired. 

It didn’t do much good. He’d expected that. It did get Megatron’s attention, however. Megatron turned a baleful gaze on him, and Starscream forced a confident sneer to his faceplates. “Miss me?” 

Megatron laughed at him. Starscream snarled and fired the other rocket at him. That must have stung, because Megatron’s amusement turned to rage and he charged, leaving Orion where he was. Starscream shifted, dodged the first bolt, heard the clatter of Megatron’s transformation, and hoped that the energon loss wasn’t too extreme. It probably was. 

Megatron slammed into his back. Starscream shrieked in pain and shifted again, clawing at Megatron’s plating. Orion was nowhere to be seen, some sort of commotion by the space bridge, probably Eradicons by the way today was going… 

They hit the ground. Megatron seized Starscream’s helm and dashed it hard into the stone. Starscream shuttered his optics, processor spinning, found himself with the cannon in his face and froze. 

“Did you think the Autobots would protect you?” said Megatron. “Or were you really so stupid that you believed you could steal Orion from under my very—”

And Optimus happened. 

It was the best description he could manage. One moment, Megatron was bearing down on him, and Starscream was quite certain he was scrap, and the next, Megatron vanished under several tons of enraged Prime. It was _hilarious_.

Starscream fought to stay online. He did _not_ want to miss the sympathy that was his due. As far as he could tell, Orion—would he have to call him Optimus now?—had the situation well under control. Comforting… 

He heard voices. One of them was Ratchet’s. Something about urgent diagnostics and patches. He turned his helm, saw Optimus more or less toss Megatron through the groundbridge. 

There was a lot of pain. He offlined. 

He drifted back online to find himself carried, helm pillowed against one massive shoulder. He smiled, woozily. “See,” he slurred. “Told you it was absurd.”

Optimus said nothing. With much care, Starscream managed to pat one of his windshields, or at least, something close to it, and powered down again. 


	10. Chapter 10

“Good. You’re awake.”

Starscream shuttered his optics. He was back on the berth with Ratchet leaning over him, something like genuine concern on his face. 

He tried to move and stopped with a groan. He hurt slagging _everywhere._

“Oh, stop complaining, it’s not that bad,” said Ratchet.

“Where’s Ori—Optimus?” 

Something changed in Ratchet’s face, something that sent a prickle of anxiety up Starscream’s back. 

“I...would not recommend that you speak to Optimus just yet,” he said. At the sudden wash of anxiety and concern through Starscream’s field, he added, “He’s perfectly well. He simply...doesn’t remember his time as Orion.”

“What?” Starscream’s spark sank. After all that had happened, all the time they’d spent… No, it couldn’t be. “Well,” he said at last, “then I should speak to him _immediately_.” 

“That would be...unwise.”

“What do you mean?” he said, voice shrilling, and the distress crept into his field, profound and undeniable. Ratchet shuttered his optics, and his mouth set. 

“I told him what I could about the events of the last few days,” he said. “Since I don’t have any knowledge of the...specifics of your relationship, he only knows that it existed…”

“Well, at least he knows what happened,” he said, and something in Ratchet’s face stopped him dead there. 

“You took advantage of his amnesia, Starscream,” said Ratchet, flatly. “He has no reason to believe otherwise. Your show with Megatron was all very well and good, but other than that, we have no reason to believe you acted from anything but self-interest.”

Starscream stared at him. Opened his mouth to protest, to say that Orion has initiated everything, that it wasn’t selfishness because he was a stupid glitch and it was genuine love, _really_ , as foolish as it sounded, why else would he still be here.

And closed it again. Ratchet wouldn’t believe him. If Ratchet wouldn’t believe him, there was no point in so embarrassing himself by admitting it.

“I’ll speak with him,” he said instead, and this time Ratchet did not stop him.

* * *

 

He ran into Optimus some time later. He couldn’t have said that he was _looking_ for the other mech, but he hadn’t any other reason to enter the practice room. 

Optimus was standing in the middle of the room, staring at nothing in particular, arms folded—obviously deep in thought, his field tucked in tight and unreadable. Starscream hesitated, stepped all the way into the room. No acknowledgement. He reset his vocalizer.

Optimus turned to look at him, a long unreadable regard even as his field flared with tightly controlled anger. Starscream flinched back from it, wings drooping, pulling his field in tight around him with distress. 

“Orion—Optimus, I…” He trailed off and looked up at Optimus, hunching himself still smaller. It _hurt_ to have that anger bent on him. It hurt to look up into those blue optics and see no tenderness. 

Optimus just watched him, cold and unapproachable, and Starscream couldn’t meet his optics any more. 

“I’m glad Megatron inflicted no lasting damage,” he offered, at last, and winced at  how insufficient that sounded. 

“He did not,” said Optimus. 

He’d spoken. That was encouraging, was it not? “You remember nothing?” he said, a desperate edge to his voice, and folded his hands one over the other. _Please say no_ , he thought. _Please._

“Yes. But Ratchet told me the particulars of your presence here.” 

Starscream took a step backward, optics flicking up to Optimus’s face again, feeling the anger in his field flare, be drawn back, tightly contained once more. 

“I did what I could to help,” he said, knowing that was not what Optimus meant.

“So I am told.”

Starscream hunched himself smaller, wanting to disappear. It would make Optimus stop looking at him like that. As if…

...as if he were revolting. As if he’d been weighed and judged and found wanting, as if he’d committed some personal betrayal. As if after all he’d done, the very spark of him was still too tarnished to accept. 

Even Megatron had never looked at him like that. 

Things crowded in his processor. _I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’ll do better. Please, Optimus, I promise. The thing I said, I meant it. Please stop looking at me like that stop, please, please, please stop._

_I love you, I’m an idiot and I love you and please stop looking at me like that._

What he said was, “I suppose you’ll want me to leave, then?”

A long silence. “You have lent us considerable assistance,” said Optimus at last. “For that alone, you may stay.”

“And what about—”

There was a ripple in Optimus’s field, something that Starscream couldn’t identify. “We will discuss further details once it becomes clear whether you acted in good faith.”

Starscream straightened, trying to keep the gesture light and dismissive, even as his field flared up with hurt and anger. 

“Fine,” he snarled. “I knew it wouldn’t last. I was just in it for the ‘facing, after all.”

He turned and fled from the wash of sickened, horrified anger, made for the main room. It was empty, the children already gone home, the other Autobots elsewhere. He went to the groundbridge, set coordinates at random with no more than a cursory check to make sure he wouldn’t come out underwater—though just now that didn’t sound so  bad—and left, transforming because his root mode was too slagging slow.

He flew for a long, long time, until exhaustion forced him to land, somewhere in a maze of rock and scrub. He transformed in a canyon, slammed his hands into the rock wall and sank down, leaning his helm against the stone, and shuddered. A keen built in his vocalizer, and he suppressed it brutally, unclenching his hands and digging claws into the cliff face and it did nothing for the pain. The memory of the wash of Optimus’s field overcame him again, and then he did keen.

He wasn’t good enough. He’d seen it in Optimus’s optics, in his field. He tried to lie to himself, to tell himself that it wasn’t the case, that Optimus was simply a fool and it faltered because his treacherous spark still twisted with an agonizing longing even at the thought of his name. He tried to tell himself that it wasn’t his fault and knew it was wrong because something in him refused to think so ill of the mech who had been Orion. 

Ratchet had said that Optimus felt that Starscream had taken advantage of him, and Starscream had seen the truth of it, and could not blame him no matter how he tried. He hadn’t meant it that way. If he had he wouldn’t be stuck in a canyon in the middle of a disgusting organic planet keening hopelessly. It wouldn’t hurt this much.

He wanted to blame someone else, Primus it was all he wanted and he couldn’t. The very fact of it turned his tanks, brought a weak anger to the surface that Orion had so changed him. He shouldn’t feel like this. It wasn’t _him_. 

A scream of engines above him and he looked up, a brief foolish hope that he would see Optimus there, come to apologize. Forgive him. But instead it was Megatron, advancing with fusion cannon leveled and a pleased field, a field that went more pleased as he sensed Starscream’s distress.

He couldn’t flee. Starscream backed away from Megatron, desperately hoping for something, anything, to happen. “Help me!” he snarled into his comm, and met only silence.  Optimus did not respond. Interference from the rock?

He wouldn’t respond in any case. He didn’t _care_. Even after everything Starscream had done, risking his neck for the sake of one ungrateful Autobot, the great Optimus Prime didn’t slagging care. 

He looked up into Megatron’s optics, their glow mirrored by his charged cannon, and cringed. “Master—” he started, and Megatron laughed, making him flinch.

“Do you think it will be so easy to come back this time, Starscream?” 

“Well, I—ah—” The lies died in his vocalizer, and he pressed himself back against the rock wall. 

“It won’t be,” said Megatron. “I have no use for you, Starscream, save one.”

Starscream shuttered his optics and stayed where he was. 

Megatron grinned. Something in Starscream’s processor began to gibber.

“Where is the Autobot base?” 

“I don’t know!” The response was automatic. 

“Oh, really?” Megatron leaned closer. Starscream pressed himself against the rock and offlined his optics. “I was under the impression that you were quite friendly with the Autobots, after rescuing their leader.” 

“I—”

“And it seems you and he became rather...close as of recent. You cannot mean to tell me you know _nothing_ of value?”

“Orion may have been gullible enough, but the rest of them didn’t trust me,” said Starscream in a rush. It was expected. It was familiar ground. He clung to the growing fear, the press of Megatron’s field because he _knew_ it. “I know _nothing_ , master. _Nothing_.”

Megatron cocked his head, optics narrowing, and Starscream cringed as his field flared up, anger and implacable purpose pressing down on him. 

“Relying on your Autobot friends to save you?” he asked, almost a purr. Starscream reached for the comm link again, found it as silent and dead as before.

The weight of his folly came crashing down on him. He had been a fool. The Autobots cared nothing for him. Prime cared nothing for him, because that was all he was: a Prime. None of Orion in that. Figured that the whole escapade, his carefully constructed plan, all of his slagging _ridiculous_ hopes, would end like this, staring at the one constant in his world. Megatron was the one thing that he could rely upon. 

He bowed his head. “Master…” he stated, the word painful; he meant it now. “I know _nothing_. They made sure of it.”

Megatron laughed. “Clever, Starscream, very clever.”

“It’s the truth, master.” No sign of help. “Please, master...I’ve been a fool.” 

“Have you now?” Megatron’s voice was all but a caress. 

“Without you, I am nothing.” Starscream moved forward fractionally, hunching his wings in expectation of a blow. The cannon was still fully charged. “I made a mistake, thinking I could escape you.”

Megatron just looked at him, the cannon staying precisely where it was. 

“Please, master, take me back.” He added a whine to his voice, tried to ignore the part of him that pointed out he’d never need to do this for Optimus. “Please. I cannot give you information but you know I am a good lieutenant.”

Megatron’s mouth quirked up in a smile. It was not a nice one. 

“Master, please.” Starscream knelt before him and bowed his helm. “Forgive me.”

“Only to let you turn on me again at the first opportunity?” said Megatron at last. “You have said all of this before, Starscream. And then you stole Orion and delivered him to the _Autobots_.” 

“They don’t care for me,” said Starscream. “They have rejected me.”

“I wonder why,” said Megatron, still smiling. 

“What else am I to do?” demanded Starscream. “Now that he is Prime again, Optimus will have nothing to do with me.”

“So that’s the root of it, is it? Perhaps I should be unsurprised at you crawling back to me now.”

“I was a fool, master. Please…” He started to rise. Megatron put a hand on his helm and kept him in place. 

“Master?” 

“What do you want, Starscream?”

“To return to your side, master. Nothing else. Please…” It was familiar. It made him feel himself. And at least Megatron wasn’t looking at him with disgust.

“Please?” The slagger was enjoying this, a flicker of arousal playing through his field. Starscream looked up at him and shivered, anxiety and anticipation mixed. His interface array began to heat. At least someone wanted him. At least this was a game whose rules he _knew_. Megatron had always wanted _him_ , not some sweetsparked Autobot version of him. Not a lie he’d built.

“Allow me to demonstrate my loyalty, my lord,” he said, and Megatron’s smile widened. 

“Your loyalty?” he said, and dragged Starscream upright again, slammed him hard into the cliff wall. Starscream keened at the pressure on his wings, and Megatron reached for one, running claws along sensitive edges and seams. Starscream’s spike pressurized in a rush. 

Megatron wanted him. Megatron wanted him and abruptly he _needed_ this, needed hands on him, needed the attention and the arousal, needed to feel desirable again—

“Go on, then,” Megatron snarled into Starscream’s audial. “Prove it.”

“With pleasure,” Starscream retorted, and it didn’t seem like a lie. Megatron’s hands dropped to his waist and he was lifted and pressed against the wall. He slid his interface panel aside and spread his legs, draping his arms over Megatron’s shoulders. 

Megatron wasted no time. Starscream threw his head back and shrieked with the first thrust, the mixed pleasure and pain, the gush of fluids down his thighs. Megatron withdrew almost entirely and paused. Starscream’s ventilations broke off and he cursed weakly at him for teasing.

The next one had him shrieking again, and Megatron growled and shoved him harder against the wall, pinning him there. 

It hurt, Primus, it hurt, this was dominance, a game of vicious manipulation, but he knew it and did not have to worry about not being good enough. It was not love. Not what he had with Orion. He shoved that aside and dug his claws into the plating around Megatron’s shoulders, making the other mech snarl with pain. He canted his hips into the next thrust, clenching his valve deliberately, and Megatron roared as he went into overload, dragging Starscream with him. 

Starscream came online still pressed against the rock, Megatron still inside him. It felt right. Familiar. It was all he deserved, all he should have wanted. He clung to Megatron, and tried not to wish that the plating under his clutching fingers was red.


End file.
